


🛋️🍆

by robokittens



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (First Time ish anyway), Anal Sex, Dylan Strome is a Chicago Blackhawk, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: "So —" Alex clears his throat. "Are we gonna do this, or are you just gonna sit and panic with your fingers up my ass?"





	🛋️🍆

**Author's Note:**

> it took me so long to write this alex bought a damn house and they don't even live in the same building anymore LMAO IT'S FINE
> 
> anyway!!!! here it is, finally, jeez. it takes a village: thank you to reserve and seducerhymeswithdeduce for encouragement from the very beginning, anggriffen for the hand-holding (although no thanks for all the distraction!!! rude), runphoebe and stonesnuggler for reassuring me that yes, actually, it does sound like them, and also that i can write sex scenes (thank god, what else would i do), and also for all the screaming, which i have been assured is positive.
> 
> if the title of this fic won't appear on your device, it's the couch emoji and the eggplant emoji ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Alex walks out of his bedroom and thinks, again, that he needs to buy some slippers. He doesn't like sleeping in socks, and his bedroom has rugs, but he knows the second he steps onto the hardwood of the living room his feet are gonna be cold. And the kitchen always seems even colder somehow, which doesn't make sense since it's an open floor plan, but —

He doesn't make it as far as the kitchen. Dylan Strome is sitting on his couch. He's wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt and flip-flops and he's manspreading obnoxiously while looking at something on his phone. His bedhead is pretty epic.

"Stromer," Alex says. "Go home."

"I am home," Dylan says. He doesn't look up from his phone.

Alex rolls his eyes, finally walks past him. He snags a bottle of water from the fridge and leans onto the island separating his kitchen and living room.

"I gave you my key for emergencies."

"This is an emergency," Dylan says, sounding distracted. He jabs at his phone screen, wrinkles his nose in frustration, pokes at it again.

Alex takes a long sip of his water and raises an eyebrow, not that Dylan is looking. "An Instagram emergency?"

"Sure," Dylan says.

"That's the worst kind," Alex says solemnly. He pushes himself off the counter and opens his cabinets, which are embarrassingly empty; he needs to get groceries. He pulls down a box of protein bars. There are only two left, so he takes them both.

"Yo," he says. "Heads up," which seems like plenty of warning to give Dylan before chucking a protein bar straight at his head.

Dylan freezes, the look on his face pretty comical. He doesn't drop his phone, but it's a close call. He doesn't catch the protein bar, either, barely moving his head in time for it to sail past him and smack into the window behind him.

"What the fuck," he protests, and Alex laughs. He unwraps his own bar and takes a big bite; he knows it's sticking to his teeth, so he grins widely at Dylan. 

"Gross," Dylan says, and then, "hey, toss me a water."

"You gonna catch this one?" 

It doesn't matter, because he doesn't grab another water anyway, just snags his own bottle and heads to the couch, dropping down next to Dylan.

"There's a whole couch," Dylan points out.

Alex laughs. He double-checks that the lid to the water bottle is screwed on and puts it on the floor before resettling himself on the couch, feet sprawled toward the other end and his head on Dylan's thigh. "Yeah, my whole couch, asshole."

Dylan just kind of shrugs, makes a little humming noise like _fair enough_. It's not long till his hand is in Alex's hair, scratching gently at his scalp. Alex leans into it.

There's a part of him that resents the degree to which people tend to do this: the hair-ruffles like he's a little kid, calling him _Kitten_, but also … it feels fucking good, so, whatever. And it's not like _Dylan_ would mean anything weird by it.

After a second, though, it sparks something. He dislodges Dylan's hand enough to kind of half sit up. "Wait, dude. Where's Ralph?"

"Jenn came by," Dylan says. He kind of shoves at Alex till he's back in his lap, the cuddly motherfucker. "Like, literally five minutes ago. She's taking him to the park. With, um, what's that doodle's name a couple floors down, Sugar?"

"I can't believe you're on a first-name basis with my dog walker," Alex gripes, but it's half-hearted. Dylan's fingers are smoothing over his scalp, over and over. Generally once he's up he's up, but he might fall back asleep right here.

Dylan laughs. "Hey, she's hot."

"Is Sugar also hot?"

"Wow, go fuck yourself."

"Oh, sure," Alex says. "First you wanna fuck the dog walker, now you tell me to go fuck myself. I see how it is."

Dylan snorts. "What," he says. "You want _me_ to fuck you?"

The chirp dies on the tip of Alex's tongue, and then it's too late and he hasn't said anything. The moment stretches on longer. Dylan's fingers don't leave his hair, but their motion stills.

It's not like they've never hooked up before. But — it's different, now. They're sober, for one thing. It's 9 o'clock in the morning. They're not teenagers anymore. They're in the fucking NHL. And they'd never actually ...

Alex isn't holding his breath but he feels like he is, gone suddenly light headed. He's still in Dylan's fucking lap.

"What," he says finally. He's aiming for mocking but he can tell from the equally shell shocked look on Dylan's face that he's not quite there. "You want to?"

"I mean," Dylan says, too fast, and Alex knows if he starts talking now he'll never stop. He'll talk them both out of it. And that's … maybe that would be a good thing. Objectively. But.

"Dyl," he says. It's quiet but evidently firm enough to stop Dylan in his tracks. He sits up, dislodging Dylan's hand; they should be face to face for this, if they're gonna talk about it.

And they've — fuck, they've never really talked about it. It's always been casual, a little buzzed or a little high. Road shit, roomie shit; it's just … happened. But, hell, they're adults now, right?

Alex pulls Dylan's phone out of his unresisting hands and leans over him to set it on the side table. He grabs Dylan's hands, then, grasps them in both of his own and rubs a thumb over Dylan's knuckles in a way he hopes is soothing. Dylan thrives on touch, always has.

"You want to?" he asks again. "Hey. Dyl. Look at me."

Dylan laughs, a little shaky, but he meets Alex's eyes. "We should probably … talk about this like adults, right?"

Alex starts to laugh, because of course they're on the same wavelength. About everything, and also about this. That's got to be a good sign. "Probably," he says.

"Or." Dylan says it slowly, drawing two letters out as long as he possibly can. Alex watches the way he swallows, the movement of his adam's apple, which is why he almost misses the way Dylan's eyes are fixed on his mouth. "We could … not talk about it."

"That's also an option," Alex says, but barely: he almost forgets to finish the sentence when Dylan brings their joined hands to his lips, not quite kissing Alex's fingertips but just sort of mouthing at them. It's not something that should be in any way hot. But.

Dylan is still staring at him so intently that Alex feels his face starting to heat up. "Fuck," he says, under his breath. Dylan sucks Alex's index finger into his mouth and Alex kind of blanks out for a moment.

"Do you —" he says, and he's not even sure where that sentence was going, but it seems his body knows exactly where _it_ is going because he pulls his hands from Dylan's grip and climbs into his lap instead, knees sinking into the couch cushions as he straddles the wide spread of Dylan's thighs.

Dylan's hands flutter, uncertain, in the air before they land on Alex's waist. Alex is wearing a shirt — there's no part of their bodies where skin is touching skin — but it still feels almost unbearably intimate. He hisses in a breath.

"Dyl," he says. He rocks forward; it isn't far to go before he's pushing up against Dylan's stomach. He's not actually hard, not yet, but he could definitely get there just like this. One of Dylan's hands slips up under the hem of his shirt and settles on the skin at the small of his back, just over the waistband of his boxers. His hand feels cold at first, and then very, very warm. Alex feels his whole body flushing.

He tips his head forward to rest on Dylan's shoulder. "Yeah," Dylan says. He sounds kind of fucked up already, even though they're not really doing anything. "Yeah, just like that."

Alex tugs his own shirt off quickly, then Dylan's. He doesn't want Dylan to stop touching him, doesn't want to lose the warmth of Dylan's fingers pressing into his spine. But if he's going to rub off on Dylan's abs he definitely wants to be able to feel it.

He … really hopes that's not all they're going to do, though.

It's not something he's spent much time thinking about before — about getting fucked, about _Dylan_ fucking him. But now that it's on the table he feels like he's been ready for a very long time.

And once again, Dylan's on the same page, equally urgent. "C'mon," he mutters, shoving at Alex's boxers.

Alex laughs, a little breathless. He pushes himself off of Dylan and practically tears his underwear off; they catch on his ankle, and he kicks them somewhere across the room. When he looks back, Dylan's clothes are crumpled on the floor in front of the couch.

"Fuck," he breathes out. It's not like he hasn't seen Dylan naked before — recently even; it's not even the first time he's seen him naked in a sexual context, although that's been much longer. But it's —

It's not even like he'd _made_ himself stop thinking about it, once Dylan came to Chicago. Alex knows he's into dudes sometimes, knows some of his teammates are hot. Knows some of his teammates are _really fucking hot_. But you turn that shit off, in the locker room. He doesn't even think about it.

Seeing Dylan like this — all smooth skin, deceptively soft-looking where Alex knows he's all muscle, his dick red and hard and thick, his hair curling around his ears and hunger in his eyes — he realizes how long it really has been since Erie.

They've both changed. And now that Alex is really looking, Dylan has gotten … 

"Wow," he says. There's no way to disguise his unabashed staring at this point so he may as well lean into it.

Dylan huffs out an embarrassed laugh, cheeks going a little pink. "Whatever," he says, a little awkwardly, and he's so busy being modest or something that it seems to take him by surprise when Alex comes closer.

His eyes go a little wide when Alex shoves at his chest but he goes down to the couch without a protest. He doesn't protest when Alex climbs back on top of him, either, settles his hands on Alex's hips and pulls him in tight.

"Hey Kitten," Dylan murmurs, and it's probably supposed to be sexy but it's — it's fucking _Dylan_. Alex rolls his eyes but he also rolls his hips, just a little, and Dylan lets out this low grunt that steals all the air from Alex's chest. 

It feels pretty good, just like this — their dicks pressed up against each other between their bodies, Dylan's breath hot in his ear. It's just on the edge of too much friction; Dylan doesn't seem to mind, but Alex might need to do something about it.

"Hang on," he says, and sits back. The disappointed sound Dylan makes goes straight to his dick, as does the way Dylan's big hand palms his ass when Alex twists around in Dylan's lap, leans over to the end table and yanks the drawer open. It hasn't totally filled up with junk so it's pretty easy to find the tube of lotion he'd tossed in there the other day.

Dylan raises an eyebrow at him, and Alex scoffs.

"It's winter in Chicago, asshole. Do your hands not — fuck you, man, whatever."

"I think we were headed kinda in that direction, yeah," Dylan says. The hand on Alex's ass squeezes hard, and Alex jolts, just a little. Dylan sounds so fucking casual.

Alex pops the cap on the lotion, squeezes some out onto his fingers. He strokes his fingertips down Dylan's dick, not really putting any pressure on it but Dylan's breathing starts to go all heavy.

"Fuck," Dylan says. He doesn't sound casual anymore. "Alex. You —"

"Mmhmm." Alex hums agreeably, dropping the lotion to the couch cushions and wrapping his hand around Dylan's dick. It's — big. Which isn't news or anything, but it's a little different now, thinking about it going _inside_ him.

The way he's sitting on Dylan like this, there's no way he could get his mouth on it but he kind of wants to, lotion be damned. The last time he tried was … a few years ago, one of Dylan's last games as an Otter. The game had gone well; Alex's attempt to swallow down Dylan's dick, not so much. He'd choked; Dylan had laughed at him and then (accidentally, he'd swore) come on his face.

It would go a lot better this time, Alex is pretty sure of it.

But this is — also good, definitely. Dylan is thick and hot in his grip, slick with the lotion, and Dylan's head is tilted forward onto Alex's shoulder. Alex can feel how hard he's breathing. 

Dylan shifts, and Alex can kind of hear him fumbling with something where his arms are wrapped behind Alex's back, but he doesn't really think about it. Doesn't think about what Dylan's doing, what he _must_ be doing, until Dylan's got one hand on his hip tilting his ass up slightly. The fingers of his other hand come to rest lightly on Alex's tailbone. He's slicked them up, Alex can tell, even before Dylan drags them down the crease of his ass. He can feel his own breath stutter in his throat.

"You okay?" Dylan says. His mouth is pressed to Alex's shoulder.

Alex nods. Goes to clear his throat, coughs a little. "Yeah," he says. "C'mon."

"'Kay," Dylan says. He presses one finger against Alex's hole, and Alex's breath catches again. It's not — he's not even inside. It's just _pressure_, but that's — that's pretty new. It's a lot. And it's _Dylan_.

Dylan pushes forward. His finger is _inside_ Alex. It's not painful but it's weird, intrusive. It feels … very different than the couple of times he's done this to himself. He doesn't mean to move into it, doesn't really mean to move at all, but he can't keep himself still. It's Dylan who gasps, this time.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes out. He sounds a little awed. "Alex."

"Do it," Alex urges.

He'd just meant _move_, but Dylan pushes inside with another finger. Alex gasps. He's clutching onto Dylan's shoulders — he's not touching Dylan's dick anymore, isn't sure when that happened. Dylan doesn't seem to mind; he's still breathing heavy into Alex's neck. He's _watching_, Alex realizes — looking over Alex's shoulder to see where his fingers disappear into his body.

"How does —"

"Good," Alex says. "Different. But good."

Dylan fucks him with two fingers, slowly, steadily. It's kind of a weird angle for both of them; Alex can already feel the burn in his thighs from holding himself upright. It's nothing he can't take. He's ready to take a lot more.

"Different," Dylan echoes. He sounds like he's realized something. "Have you done this before?"

"I —" Alex would probably hesitate anyway, but Dylan hasn't stopped _moving_, and he has to pause to catch his breath. "Not — not really. No."

Dylan stills, then. Alex can't keep himself from rocking back onto his hand.

"Fuck," Dylan breathes out. Alex can't tell how he means it, exactly. "Fuck. Okay. We should … we should take this to your bed. Do you have lube? Like real lube. I —"

"Dylan." Alex keeps his tone as steady as he can, which is impressive all things considered. "Shut up. I want you to fuck me. Right here, right now."

Dylan breathes out harshly, and Alex shivers when it fans across his back. "Jesus," he says. He sounds overwhelmed.

"Have _you_ done this before?"

"Yes," Dylan says, too quickly. It sounds defensive and he clearly realizes it, tries again, a little sheepish this time. "I mean — yes. But. I want to do it right. For you."

"This _is_ right," Alex says. He doesn't think about the words till after they've left his mouth, the way they sound, their implications. He's glad that they're not really looking at each other right now; he's not sure he could deal with whatever is surely written large across Dylan's face. 

"So —" He clears his throat. "Are we gonna do this, or are you just gonna sit and panic with your fingers up my ass?"

Dylan actually laughs at that, which shakes his shoulders, which moves his arm, which jolts his fingers up against Alex's prostate. Alex curses loudly, his knuckles going white where he's gripping onto Dylan's shoulders.

Dylan stills, wide-eyed. "Are you —"

"_Do that again_," Alex hisses.

"Okay," Dylan says. He sounds shocked, almost tentative. He moves his hand again, though, replicating the motion, and Alex shudders with his whole body. He can't remember the last time he was this hard.

"Come on," he says. He pushes back on Dylan's hand; he can't quite get the angle himself, but he's not complaining. "Let's — let's do this."

"Are you ready?"

Alex laughs, just a little, light and breathless. "Let's find out."

Dylan pulls his fingers out slowly, and Alex sucks in a long breath. It had felt weird, yeah, Dylan's fingers moving inside him, _filling_ him, but now he feels … not empty, not exactly. But there's something missing. Something he wants.

Dylan's hands on his hips help, moving him with a surety that Alex maybe shouldn't find as hot as he does. He's very used to being manhandled, especially by Dylan, but he's never had quite this reaction to it before.

"Okay," Dylan urges. "Just — take it slow. Breathe." His hands are still on Alex, a tight grip. 

"I'm breathing," Alex grumbles, but there's no denying he's breathing fast. He reaches behind himself, awkward, feels between where his legs are stretched wide and then down further to Dylan's dick, just too far away. "We need more, uh —"

"Right," Dylan says, quickly. He lets go of Alex's hips and Alex makes a needy sound, drops down just enough, almost involuntarily, that the head of Dylan's dick slides against his ass. They both freeze.

Alex's other hand grips tighter where it's still on Dylan's shoulder. "Hey," he says, quiet. "This is — you good?"

Dylan's answering laugh is just a little shaky. "Oh I'm — I'm very good. You good?"

"I will be," Alex says, and he knows he sounds just cocky enough to spur Dylan into action. And it works: he can feel the movement of Dylan's hands as he slicks his dick back up, can feel the slight tremble of Dylan's thighs where they're bracketed inside his own.

Alex's fingers are still touching himself, feeling where Dylan spread him open, when Dylan reaches to touch him there too. It's not — _electric_, when their hands touch, not anything so dumb, but it's a lot. Alex swallows hard. 

"Okay," Dylan says. His tone is almost soothing, which is weird for him, but it works. The hand that was touching Alex's lands on the small of his back, pauses there, moves to his hip. Guiding him down.

And then he can feel it, actually and for real: Dylan — Dylan's _dick_, pressing up against him. Against his asshole, where it's — oh, fuck —

"Oh, _fuck_," he whispers, a little awed. He tips his head onto Dylan's shoulder and sinks down, down. 

Dylan is inside him. Just a little, but it's a lot. His breath catches in his throat and he forces himself to breathe, to relax. Open up. He sinks down again, a little more.

"Fuck," he says, mumbled into Dylan's shoulder. He knows he shouldn't let these next words leave his mouth, knows they'll go right to Dylan's head and that's the last thing either of them need, but — "You're so big."

"You're so _tight_," Dylan says. It's porn dialogue from both of them but he sounds punched-out, shocked; it doesn't sound like porn dialogue at all. It feels real, a little raw. _Alex_ feels raw.

"I'm gonna," Alex says, and Dylan says "_Please_" so quickly it seems more like a reflex than a response.

He lets himself sink lower. His thighs tremble. It doesn't seem like it should be possible for Dylan to fit inside him like this, but with every breath he takes him further and further in.

Dylan's still talking, _yes_ and _please_ and _oh god, Alex_, but it's barely registering as words. Alex feels like he's narrowed down to the place where Dylan's fingerprints must be impressing themselves into his hip and the heat in his spine and the place where Dylan's dick is filling him up.

It feels so fucking weird. It feels _amazing_. 

"Am I —" he breathes out, shuddering. He's all the way down now, he can feel it, Dylan's hips against his ass. "Can I —"

Dylan laughs a little, shaky. "Oh my god. Yes. Anything, Alex, _fuck_ —"

"_Fuck_," Alex echoes, and he starts to move. He pushes himself up slowly, sinking back down before he gets too far. It's a lot. It's — a _lot_. There's absolutely no way he has any sort of real rhythm going, jerky and uncoordinated, but … Dylan is _inside him_. 

Alex is pressed close enough against him that he can tell how hard Dylan is working to hold still, to let Alex move on top of him — to let Alex just ride him like this. On the couch. In his living room. This is not where he'd expected this morning to go. This is a much better start to the day than getting up and walking the dog, honestly.

He must have said that out loud because Dylan laughs again, strangled, and then sounds almost concerned when he says, "Fuck. The dog walker —"

"Park," Alex manages. "An hour, at least. We have time. _Fuck_, Dylan —"

"Yeah," Dylan breathes out. Alex can feel the moment where he breaks, the moment where his hips stutter upward and move to press into Alex's. The moment where Dylan starts actually fucking him. "I'm not gonna —" He laughs again, just a little. "Last that long, I don't think."

"Me neither," Alex says, breathless. No one's even touching his dick but Dylan's keeps brushing over his prostate and he feels — he's never felt like this.

They move well together — it took them a moment to find their rhythm, but why would this be any different? Alex's arms are looped around Dylan's neck, his face tucked into his shoulder; Dylan's hands are burning prints into his hips. Dylan is — he's filling him up so _well_.

"Al," Dylan says, desperate. "Alex."

"Yeah," Alex mumbles, grinding down, but when Dylan says his name again it sounds like a question. He manages to pull his face away from Dylan's neck; he can tell that he's red and blotchy, warm all over, and he can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he's — he's just feeling a lot. It's fine. 

Dylan looks as overwhelmed as Alex feels: his eyes are blown wide; his lower lip looks red and raw, like he's been biting at it. He moves one of his hands off of Alex's hip, and Alex makes a noise almost like he's been hurt, but that hand cups his cheek instead and he turns and nuzzles into it. Dylan pushes up into him.

"Alex," Dylan says again. He sounds wrecked, gone. "Can I — would it — I don't want to be, like, weird, but — can I —" 

He can't seem to finish a sentence but he trails his thumb over Alex's lips; it almost slips inside when Alex's mouth opens in a laugh.

"Are you — yes, you can kiss me, no homo, you absolute weirdo, your _dick_ is in my _ass_." 

There's no way he's waiting for Dylan to hesitate even a moment longer and he pushes forward, knocks Dylan's hand aside and slots their mouths together. He keeps his eyes open just long enough to see Dylan's slip shut, his eyelashes trembling. Alex's arms tighten around his neck; it doesn't seem possible for them to get any closer, but they manage it.

Dylan tastes like coffee and a faint hint of toothpaste and his mouth is hot and slick, demanding against Alex's.

It's a little sloppy, Dylan licking his way into Alex's mouth wet and needy. It's not the best kiss Alex has ever had and he absolutely cannot believe they've never done this before; he never wants to do anything else. Dylan moans against him, muffled by their tongues. Alex feels it in his whole body, just as much as he feels the way Dylan's pushing up into him unevenly. 

He pulls away with a gasp, tucks his face into Dylan's neck again.

"Dylan," he says, and he presses tiny, shaky kisses against Dylan's neck, like somehow now he's allowed to. "_Fuck me_."

"Yeah," Dylan breathes, and Alex can feel the way his thighs tense, his abs, even his shoulders. He threads his hand through the longer part of Alex's hair and tilts him, just a little, doesn't quite pull but moves him until he can fit their mouths together again.

Alex makes a noise of surprise when Dylan finally, _really_ fucks up into him. It's a lot; he's never felt a stretch like this, the way Dylan fits inside him, filling him up. He bites down on Dylan's lip without meaning to, and Dylan thrusts up into him again, harder this time.

"You good?" Dylan mumbles against his mouth. Alex can't quite reply, except with a sort of gasp and a twist of his hips, grinding down against Dylan.

Dylan inhales deeply, makes a noise like maybe he's going to say something but Alex doesn't let him, slips his tongue in his mouth like he wants to be as deep in Dylan as Dylan is in him.

They stay like that for a while, Alex raising himself off Dylan slowly and dropping down sharply, Dylan rising up to meet him every time, their mouths pressed together. Alex wonders, distantly, if he could get high off this, breathing the same air in and out for so long, passed back and forth between them. He feels high, a little; dizzy, delirious.

"Fuck," Dylan says, and them again, more emphatically: "_Fuck_, Alex, oh god —"

There's a moment where Dylan feels somehow even bigger inside him, stretching him almost too full, and Alex lets out a ragged sob, tips his head down to Dylan's shoulder. And then he's — christ, Dylan is coming, coming inside him. Alex can _feel_ it.

"Oh my god," Dylan is saying, "Alex, Alex," over and over again, his voice distant over the rush of pleasure in Alex's head. He's so close, so fucking close. He grinds down against Dylan, chasing the angle, the pressure, but he can't quite get it.

"I need," he says, gasped into Dylan's shoulder. "I need, please —"

"Yeah," Dylan says, "I gotchu," but his hands are on Alex's waist and they stay there, clinging. Alex squirms, shocks a gasp out of himself.

"_Please_," he says. He knows how desperate he sounds but he can't bring himself to care; he needs a hand on his dick, but he can't manage to unpeel his hands from where they're wrapped around Dylan's shoulders, holding him tight. He wants Dylan's hands on him anyway, wants — 

Dylan moves, finally, works a hand between them and wraps it around Alex's dick. Alex whimpers, somehow curls in even tighter around Dylan. He can feel his own thighs trembling where he's barely holding himself upright. 

They're pressed too close for Dylan to do much but Alex doesn't need much; Dylan twists his wrist, drags his fingers under the head of Alex's dick and Alex comes with a shout. 

It's — a minute, an hour, a lifetime, Alex doesn't know — before he can bring himself to move. He lifts his head first, brushes a kiss against Dylan's jaw. Dylan's hands have settled on his hips again, grounding enough that he feels okay to pry his hands away from Dylan's shoulders. He stretches his fingers out. The air feels chilled around him. 

Dylan nuzzles against his temple. "You okay?" he whispers, nose in Alex's hair, voice in his ear. Alex nods. He's not sure he trusts himself to talk yet. He kisses Dylan's jaw again, his chin; Dylan moves enough to bring their mouths back together. It's gentle this time. Alex lets himself get lost in it, in the way their mouths move against each other, in the way their bodies are still fitted so carefully together.

"Okay," he says finally. He pulls away, dips back in for one last kiss. Rests their foreheads together. "We should — get up, probably."

"Don't wanna," Dylan mumbles. He sounds sleepy; this close, Alex can tell his eyes are closed. He can feel Dylan's dick getting soft inside of him; he can't imagine what that feels like, for Dylan.

He shifts in Dylan's lap, unable to commit to getting up quite yet. His thighs feel sticky. "The dog walker," he says, and Dylan groans. His fingers flex on Alex's hips, not quite tugging him upward but like he's thinking about it.

It's more effort than it should be maybe but Alex pushes himself up. It feels strange when Dylan's dick slips out of his body, stranger still when he realizes he can feel Dylan's come sliding out after it. "Fuck," he says, soft but emphatic. He presses his forehead to Dylan's again, just for a moment. His legs are shaky when he finally stands up.

Dylan's fingertips press into Alex's hips, his thighs, unwilling to let him go completely even as he pulls away. He mumbles something that might be _no_ as he tries to pull Alex back onto the couch. Alex laughs, a little hoarse-sounding.

"We should shower," he says. He takes a step back, then another. Dylan looks good like this: sprawled over the couch, eyes trying to stay open and failing, dick soft against his thigh. Worn out. _Alex_ wore him out. 

"Come on," Alex says, coaxing. "You can stay here and get sued by the dog walker for indecent exposure, or you can come take a shower with me and then we can get into bed."

Dylan wrinkles his nose, pouting a little, eyes still closed. "Sure," he says. "_Now_ you want to get in bed."

Alex snorts. "Okay, next time you pick the location."

He's not even thinking about what he's said until Dylan's eyes snap open. "Next time?" He sounds a little — something. Doubtful. Hesitant. Like he needs Alex to talk him into it, maybe. 

"If you wanna," Alex says, aiming for nonchalant and mostly getting there. He shrugs, and bends down to scoop their clothes up off the floor; it's not like it's the first time Dylan's clothes have ended up in his laundry, and even if this never happens again, it won't be the last. He can hear Dylan's breath catch in his throat, though, at the sight of Alex bent over in front of him, and he barely bites back a grin.

His underwear ended up almost in the kitchen, somehow; he scoops them up off the floor and heads toward his bedroom. He thinks about calling back to Dylan, urging him up again, but when he turns around from depositing the whole mess in the hamper, there's a shadow in the doorway.

There's still a ghost of uncertainty on Dylan's face, but Alex just grins at him, bright as he can, and heads into the bathroom. Dylan will follow him. He always does.

**Author's Note:**

> look i KNOW that dylan strome is a bottom don't @ me


End file.
